


Close Your Eyes (And Count To Ten)

by Dangerousnotbroken



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Bottom!Bucky, Forced Orgasms, M/M, Masturbation, Metal arm porn, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Porn, Stucky - Freeform, This is not at all what Erskine had in mind when he gave Steve the serum, Top!Bucky, Topping from the Bottom, bottom!Steve, so many orgasms, top!steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4710899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers can punch things. He can jump really high. He can survive 70 years frozen in the ice and not age a day. He can lift cars, even throw them if he's so inclined. And if he's got the right partner, he can have what amounts to a truly obscene number of orgasms. It's all par for the course when you're a genetically enhanced perfect specimen of masculinity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Your Eyes (And Count To Ten)

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have some smut!
> 
> Major thanks to my beta [GraduateGraduate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GraduateGraduate/pseuds/GraduateGraduate) who screamed at me in the margins and fixed my word choices and says that her life is better for having this smut in it. You should check out the Stucky ABO fic she's doing right now if that's your jam because it's excellent. I've read it. I should know.
> 
> Minor Changes 9/5/15 -Formatting only. There was a couple places I used italics in the original that I felt lent to the emphasis, but I've been informed that they didn't make it in to the upload. Also there's a slight flashback that will actually make sense as a flashback now. Context, motherfuckers.

The thing about being a genetically engineered super-soldier, aside from the whole not-being-sick-anymore deal, is that the body in question recovers at what a normal person would consider to be an impossible rate. All but the most grievous of wounds sustained in battle are basically healed by the time Steve rolls out of bed the next morning and sometimes he doesn't even ache. That's certainly pleasant. Before the war, Steve would have been hard-pressed to list five separate days where he didn't hurt in some way. Once, he got a paper cut that got so badly infected that he had to take a course of antibiotics, which he could barely afford, new as the medication was back then, and it still kinda boggles Steve’s mind to think he’ll probably never need anything like that again no matter what he gets hit with.

So yeah, the healing factor is pretty cool. And he doesn't need to sleep as much as before, which is kinda interesting. It never really clicked during the war. Steve always just chalked it up to the adrenaline and the intensity of the scenario to explain why he never felt as weary as the Commandos did at the time. It's easier to notice in the present day though, when he could sleep more if he wanted to, that his body just plain doesn't need it. Before the serum, Steve would struggle through on eight or nine hours a night and still feel like he could keep sleeping; a side effect of the fact that his body was never quite strong enough for the life ahead of him, surely. He could get by easily on five now and not even yawn through breakfast. It's all a little weird.

Weirder still, and this one he does not ever bring up with any of the SHIELD scientists that ask about his experiences as a super-soldier, is that his dick seems to recover even faster than the rest of his body. Maybe it's because it's not actually an injury that he’s recovering from, Steve honestly doesn't know, but he learned pretty quickly after the big thaw that if he gets himself off in the quiet of his own room it's really only going to be about a minute before he can get hard again, if he’s so inclined. This was probably the case before he crashed into the ice as well, reason follows, but when you're in the theatre of war surrounded by the Howling Commandos and there may or may not be Hydra agents on your tail at any given time, self-pleasure is a quick and efficient process, not given to repeat performances or long, drawn out teases, so it never really came up.

It sure as hell does now. At first, Steve didn’t really push it. Two or three times in one sitting seemed reasonable. Anything more is excessive, right? Sure. Of course. But the boredom that came from being dropped into the relative calm of modern times coupled with not actually having any living friends meant that Steve had more time on his hands than he knew what to do with, and masturbation was an obvious choice to fill some of those empty hours. Internet porn doesn't hurt either, if he’s being entirely honest. Took him a few weeks to get over the embarrassment any time he loaded up the browser on his laptop (don't even get Steve started on how weird the entire concept of a laptop is) with the intention of finding a few choice videos and touching himself. But once he did get over the shame there was no going back.

On one occasion, long after he stopped feeling embarrassed about the idea of spending his downtime getting up-close-and-personal with some adult videos, Steve found himself on a site that featured videos of men together. He was bored, and a person with internet access and a healthy sexual appetite will pretty much always start pushing their own boundaries eventually, so it was only natural that he’d start branching out past what he’d consider “normal” porn. It’s not to say that Steve had no previous inklings of attraction to men or that he considered that sort of thing to be unconscionable. Christ in heaven, his first sexual experience had been at the clever hands of one James Buchanan Barnes, and his second, and at least the next dozen after that. It’s just these websites, they’re geared to men who like women. It’s forty-seven different categories of videos aimed at men who want to see things being done to ladies, even if those things are sometimes being done by other ladies. There is a decidedly heterosexual-male slant to the entire thing. Even the girl-on-girl stuff is clearly aimed at guys. And you have to click to a whole different section of the site to see men on men. It felt like crossing some kind of arbitrarily drawn line in the sand but once he did, Steve couldn’t find a single occasion to regret the decision.

Gay porn is hot. If he’s honest, there’s something Steve finds stomach turning about a lot of the straight stuff. He still likes girls plenty, that’s not the issue. But it never seems like any of the ladies in porn are really enjoying it and it never seems like the guys are interested in making sure they enjoy it. Steve Rogers would never treat a lady like that, as a tool for his own sexual satisfaction, so it’s not exactly appealing to watch someone else do it. Gay porn though, he learns, is a lot more equitable. Most of the time they seem a lot more in to each other and that gets Steve going more than anything. So yeah, once he found himself in the Gay section of pornhub or redtube or whatever the heck else he’s stumbled upon, Steve really started to enjoy himself.

It was the top in the video he was watching that started it all, really. From a certain angle with the way the light hit him, Steve could forget for a second that he was watching some stranger who clearly performed under a fake name and pretend that he was looking at Bucky. Objectively, he knew that should make him incredibly sad. If he’d seen a guy he could have mistaken for Bucky on a street corner somewhere, at the grocery store, boarding a bus, it would have stabbed him in the gut with sorrow and regret and guilt and he’d be feeling it for days. But when the not-Bucky face was attached to a naked man dragging the flat of his tongue up the erect dick of some guy sprawled out on a chaise lounge and moaning low and loud, Steve could suspend his disbelief and pretend for just a few moments that it was his dick in question, and that it was actually Bucky, and that things were the way they’re supposed to be. He came hard and fast at that one, spurting out over his fingers and making a mess on his abdomen while he reclined on his bed. And he reached to stop the video because he hadn’t really planned on going more than one round today, but on a whim he let it keep playing, and it wasn’t long before he was hard again, stroking slowly at his cock as it thickened for the man who was not Bucky doing filthy things with his mouth on the screen.

Steve came twice more before that particular video ended in a spectacular shot of the man who looked like Bucky spending himself on the tattooed chest of the nameless man he’d passed the last half-hour drilling in every position imaginable before reaching down to kiss him slowly and passionately. And in a moment of weakness (or strength, Steve supposes, if a person wants to view it that way) he clicked the link to “more like this” and found himself staring at a rather sizeable list of videos featuring the porn star who looked so much like Bucky. Steve mentally cleared his calendar (it was basically already clear, but whatever) towelled himself off, and clicked play on the first video on the list. He set a new personal record that day, coming an impressive nine times before the orgasmic haze made it difficult to even care how it felt or what he was looking at. Steve’s dick still responded to his touch and he knew if he wanted, he could probably make it an even ten orgasms but it just stopped feeling like fun, so he called it a night. But for a very long time after that, Steve kept a bookmark of the videos featuring that one dark-haired porn star and whenever he needed it, he knew where he’d find release.

\-----

When they first got Bucky back, sex was the furthest thing from Steve’s mind. Gratitude, shock, disbelief, fear, apprehension and a whole lot of concern for Bucky’s well-being consumed pretty much every one of his waking moments whether he slept nine hours or three, and masturbation didn’t really seem like a priority. It was long months of deprogramming and support and careful words before anything that resembled James Buchanan Barnes emerged from the Asset they recovered, and even longer still before he could shake a person’s hand without flinching. Steve shelved his desires and his memories of how things used to be and focused everything he had on helping Bucky take his mind back from those who had used it against him. And after a while he forgot about the porn star who reminded him so much of his old friend and the things he did to himself while he watched those videos. It didn’t seem necessary to focus on a surrogate for Bucky when he had the real thing right in front of him, even if he couldn’t actually touch him. Bucky was alive, and if he wasn’t whole yet he was the next best thing, and that was better than any dirty movie Steve could ever imagine.

It’s not until Bucky’s well enough to start going on missions with Steve, Sam and Natasha that they really start to see Bucky being Bucky again. The Winter Soldier is long gone, truly, but he hasn’t been replaced by the man whose face he wore quite yet. He’s this in-between man, neither hero nor villain, more friend than foe but only by a sliver. But once he gets out into the field it really starts to shift. Gradually he starts to make the kind of loud mouth comments Steve would have expected his old friend to make as he drops combatants with ruthless grace. He starts challenging orders instead of blindly obeying them. He starts _giving_ orders when he sees fit, which astonishes Sam but just leaves Steve grinning like a fucking idiot because Bucky was never a leader before but he was always _fit_ to lead. And when he throws his metal arm out like a clothesline and lets a thug run straight into it, knocking him out cold with the force of it, before turning to Steve and winking, well that’s just about as close to undoing the whole 70 year ordeal as they’re ever gonna get, and it’s a win if Steve ever saw one.

The real kicker comes later that day when he backs Steve up against the elevator wall after debrief and kisses him like he’s making up for decades of being apart. Steve feels his knees begin to buckle as he clutches at Bucky’s shoulders, holding him close as he dares and silently praying that the kiss lasts because he’s been dreaming of something very similar to this almost since the moment they thawed him out and brought him into a world he wasn’t quite ready for. Bucky backs away when the elevator stops though, walks out into the lobby like nothing happened, and Steve’s content to let it be because _he_ knows it was real.

It’s about three weeks after that when Steve walks out into his living room one morning to find Bucky on his couch with his laptop on the coffee table.

“Uh, Hi?” Steve says, somewhat at a loss for words. He definitely didn’t give Bucky a key, though he totally would have if Bucky asked, but he’s here anyway and it doesn’t seem necessary to ask how. He took a key or he broke in or for all Steve knows he fucking scaled the wall and came in through the window. Point is he’s here.

“Wondering when you were gonna get up.” Bucky delivers the comment nonchalantly but he’s still coiled tight like one of Clint’s bowstrings. He always is these days. Steve misses the casual air of the old Bucky, but this is the one he has now and he’ll take it. “You getting lazy in your old age?”

“Hey now, you’re just as old as I am,” Steve replies gruffly. He needs coffee. He needs to know why Bucky is on his couch in jeans and a hoodie.

“Yeah but I ain’t sleepin the day away.”

Steve shrugs. “Not like I got anywhere to be. Unless you know about an op I don’t?” He loads the coffee maker mechanically, flips the switch and rubs at his eyes before turning back around to face his friend.

“Nope.” Bucky replies with the barest hint of a grin on his face.

“So you broke in to my apartment because…?”

“’Cause you ain’t seen fit to invite me over yet? Because I missed the way you look in the morning? Because I wanted to?” Bucky stands up from the couch and dissolves the distance between them and Steve, to his credit, doesn’t surge forward to match him like he wants to.

“I wanted to. I really did, Buck. Had to let you move at your own speed. I didn’t know how much you remembered, if you remembered…” he trails off, not ready to say it out loud.

“If I remembered us.” Bucky finishes for him, a firm statement.

“Yeah.” Steve sighs. The coffee isn’t brewing fast enough.

“Well I do,” Bucky tells him bluntly. Steve doesn’t see there being a proper response here other than to nod, so he does, short and sharp. It’s just an acknowledgement but he still can’t relax because it feels like Bucky was waiting for something in return. Some kind of offer or a quid pro quo admission, Steve’s not sure what, but he doesn’t have one to give so he just waits for whatever’s coming next.

“I didn’t,” Bucky continues when it becomes apparent that Steve isn’t ready to contribute at this exact stage of the conversation. “Not at first. Not for a long time. I remembered I knew you; that was one of the first things to come back. I remembered growing up. And I remembered the stuff right at the end. You showing up all muscled and not scrawny anymore, haulin’ my ass out of the fire with the commandos. That op with the train…” Bucky shudders as he trails off, and Steve doesn’t blame him. He doesn’t like thinking about that day either and he’s not the one who fell to what should have been his death. A sour memory all around.

“Point is, stuff in the middle was last to come back. All the parts before the war didn’t come back right away.” It’s a soft smile that graces Bucky’s face then; so very different from the cocky grin he wears when he’s throwing one-liners at the chumps he’s taking down with a well-placed bullet, or the obviously fake one he wears when he’s trying to pretend that everything is totally ok. This one is the kind of smile the old Bucky would share in quiet moments. Steve likes this smile. “Didn't get the good stuff back ‘til I already had the shitty parts.”

 

“I’m glad you remember now,” Steve tells him. It's an honest admission but it's also the only thing he can think to say. It's probably best Bucky didn't get it all back at once. An entire lifetime of memories in a minute could crush a person even if they were from a normal life. Buck’s life has been anything but normal.

“How'd you manage it Stevie?” Buck implores. “Way you got frozen, but you never forgot a thing? Musta killed you seein’ me like that.”

The question freezes Steve, locks him up and all the words he could offer in reply choke the breath out of his throat. It hangs heavy in the air for a long drawn out moment with no words on either side. Finally, as Steve stands gripping the counter behind him as the coffee maker percolates away, Bucky puts himself into Steve’s space. He doesn’t stop crowding until he’s backing Steve up against the counter, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and getting nice and close, face-to-face with barely space to breathe between them. They’re roughly the same size now but it still takes Steve back to a time when Bucky towered over him, outweighed him. He always liked the way Bucky was able to manhandle him. The idea of getting that back now that he can hold his own is thrilling.

The kiss is rough right from the start. Bucky’s aggressive and fierce; much like when he’s fighting. His lips are unyielding, demanding more than coaxing Steve to open his mouth and let Bucky’s tongue brush against his own. Wet and messy, that’s how Bucky kisses, and that much is familiar, because that’s how Bucky always kissed. Steve moans into it, hungry, and the arms that have been dangling useless at his sides until this very moment find their way to grip at Bucky’s hips and draw him in. Bucky takes the hint. He situates a thigh between Steve’s legs and pins him against the counter with his weight, rolling his hips against Steve’s cock. The thin fabric of his pyjama pants does nothing to disguise how achingly hard he is, how much his body responds to the feel of Bucky rutting against him.

Bucky drops the crumpled handfuls of Steve’s shirt and works his hands, metal and skin alike, down over the firm muscles of his body, then back up again. He drags Steve’s shirt with his thumbs, raising it up until he can get fingertips on his nipples. He swallows up Steve’s startled moan as the cold metal of his left hand contrasts the warmth of his own chest. Everything here is unfamiliar: Steve’s body, Bucky’s arm, this apartment. Neither of them is in their element but the details don’t change the fact that they know each other inside and out. Even just making out against the counter, the air filled with the smell of coffee, it’s the first time Steve’s really felt at home since he woke up, and he’s lived in this apartment for well over two years.

Steve’s back arches when Bucky pinches his nipple. He knows his own strength so well, whether he thinks about it in the moment or not, so the fact that it’s a mix of pleasure and pain just shy of too much but definitely not more than Steve wants, that’s not a coincidence. That’s a calculated plan. Any time Bucky got his hands on Steve in the past, he knew exactly what response he wanted and how to get it, just like any time he fires a bullet he knows exactly where he wants it to hit. He hums against Steve’s throat, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses up and down his jugular, and Steve’s pulse quickens with each touch of his lips. It’s been so, so long since anyone touched him like this, rough and demanding and in control, and it flips some switch in Steve and he goes into this mode where all he wants is to give, to let Bucky take and take and take until he’s writhing, incoherent and more exhausted than even the most heated of battles can leave him. Steve wonders if what they did to Bucky has the same pleasant side effects as what they did to him, even thinks briefly of asking, but that’s just a little too close to actually talking about what it actually is that they did to Bucky for Steve’s current comfort. Probably for Bucky’s, too. He contents himself with pushing his hips forward as far as he can, trapped against the counter, grinding his thigh against Bucky’s hardening cock where it’s confined behind dark denim and Bucky growls against his throat. His teeth nip roughly and leave a trail of tiny red marks on Steve’s skin. They’ll be gone before this is over, even if it’s quick, and that’s a shame. Bucky was always cautious about leaving any marks before, partly because Steve bruised like an overripe peach and he was so careful, so very careful of wounding poor Steve, but mostly because they were both well aware of the risks that would follow exposing their relationship. And now that there’s nothing to fear, from contusions or prejudices either way, Steve can’t even keep them long enough to commit them to memory. It’s a crying shame.

If Steve melts under Bucky’s touch, then Bucky becomes more solid under Steve’s. Every kiss, every nip, every aggressive press of fingers on skin, Steve becomes more pliant, more enrapt in the attention, but every moan and sigh and desperate push for more contact makes Bucky more rigid and persistent and confident. His actions lack nothing in the way of assertiveness from the first kiss this morning. Steve’s enthusiasm gives Bucky licence though, and his kisses and his touches were fierce to start with but they grow demanding, rough. And Steve moans again, and Bucky takes the response to heart, and it feeds back on itself until they’re at a fever pitch, breathy moans filling the air and hands grasping greedily at everything they can touch.

“Really fuckin glad I remembered this,” Bucky growls, and Steve can only whimper in agreement.

 

\-----

 

It’s fortunate there was nothing on Steve’s docket for that day because after they finally got to the bedroom, it was hours before either of them emerged again. Even then it was only for water and sustenance. Bucky pinned Steve to the bed and fucked him senseless. Left quickly fading bite marks on his neck, his thighs. Worried his nipples with teeth and fingers until they were red and angry. Worked clever lips over his cock until Steve was begging for release, then started all over again. Steve might never think clearly again. It’s fortunate he’s got the serum bolstering his body. There’s no way he’d be walking normally otherwise. Bucky makes no apology and Steve doesn’t ask for one.

Bucky gets a key to Steve’s apartment as soon as the haze of sex clears. They had to leave the apartment eventually, if only because Steve isn’t very good at the grocery shopping thing and there wasn’t really anything approaching actual nourishment in the house. Relearning the body of a lover you thought long dead is hungry business. It requires hearty food. The half box of crackers and questionable leftovers Steve had to offer weren’t really up to par.

And it’s pretty much all downhill from there. They are _insatiable_. At one point, Romanov makes a backhanded comment about how they seem to be trying to make up for 70 years of not getting any, and Steve can’t even be offended because at the rate they’re going, they might actually accomplish that. He hasn’t exactly been keeping track but if someone told Steve he’d had more orgasms in the weeks since he and Bucky broke the ice and got hands on each other again than he had in the entire rest of his life leading up to that point, he’d have believed it, no questions asked. And he’s not about to start complaining.

 

\-----

 

It was probably Bucky’s idea. Steve’s memory is just a little hazy at the moment, which is fair given the distraction he’s currently working against. But it was almost certainly Bucky’s idea. It had to be. Yes. That’s it. The conversation is clear now, for just a moment, as the intensity of the stimulation ebbs just long enough for Steve to grip his senses.

_“What’s your record?” Bucky asks, dropping hot kisses to Steve’s exposed throat._

_“My record?” Steve repeats. His hands fist the sheets and he writhes under Bucky’s attentions._

_“Yeah,” Bucky affirms. “Your record. I wanna break it.”_

_“My…oh.” Steve’s mind catches up to the conversation at hand, and he groans involuntarily as Bucky pinches his nipple between metal fingers. “Uh… I got to nine once.” Bucky nips at Steve’s throat, working his hand down across Steve’s abs to palm at his denim-clad crotch, and Steve grinds against the friction._

_“Nine? I think we can beat that, don’t you?” Bucky lets out a dark laugh, his lips curling into a smile against Steve’s throat._

Steve snaps back to reality as Bucky’s tongue laves against the sensitive head of his cock, lapping up the precome that’s steadily leaking. He aches. He aches with want, desperate to feel Bucky’s touch, to feel Bucky bury his cock inside his ass again. He aches from overuse, his hole stretched and wet, his cock overstimulated but still gloriously hard. He aches with the desire to come again, so insanely turned on even though he’s already spent himself countless times today. Well no, not countless. Bucky’s counting. Steve has long since passed the point where he can use numbers. He can barely use words right now, so high on endorphins. Bucky licks his cock from balls right up to the tip, then takes the whole thing into his throat and swallows around him, and Steve wouldn’t be surprised if that’s all it took to have him shooting off again. But no, Bucky’s not letting him off that easy. He slides his mouth back up to wrap lips around the head and sucks gently, swirling his tongue and teasing at the slit, and Steve feels the warm, hard pressure of Bucky’s metal fingers circling his slick rim.

Steve gasps, back arching and arms tugging at the ropes that bind him to the bed. He’s surprised Bucky managed to find ropes that can hold him, super strength and all, but somehow he accomplished it. The cords catch the light sometimes and Steve can see little metal filaments woven through the fibres. Bucky probably got it from Stark. Steve doesn’t want to know. The rope wraps snugly around each of his wrists, coiled several times for security, and runs in a tight line to anchor him to the bedframe. The rope itself might be strong enough to hold Steve down, he’s not really sure and he hasn’t exactly tested it, but it’s pretty obvious that if he wanted out, he could tear through the wooden frame fairly easily. Maybe he should invest in something sturdier if they’re going to keep playing at this. Probably. The same kind of ropes are attached to his legs. Each knee is wrapped and secured so he can’t straighten it, and then anchored to the headboard as well. He’s stretched out, spread open, and afforded only slightest of motions, but Steve’s perfectly happy to stay here for as long as Bucky deems fit.

Two of Bucky’s metal fingers slide into his hole and go to work grinding mercilessly against his prostate, and it’s not long before Steve is done for. Bucky pulls off his dick just in time to watch Steve go stiff when he comes, spurting come on Bucky’s hand and his own stomach, letting go with a strangled groan and his eyes squeezed shut. Bucky strokes Steve through it, metal fingers still buried in his ass, and when his dick stops twitching Bucky reaches over to the nightstand. The short knife gleams in the afternoon sun as he angles the blade, bringing it up to the wooden headboard to carve another rough notch. Steve can just see it if he angles his head back on the pillow.

“That’s seven,” Bucky says after a moment. He grabs a towel off the footboard of the bed, wiping his hands and his face with it before swiping it gently across Steve’s stomach. Steve sighs with contentment, too blissed out to bother counting for himself, and far too fucked out to remember if its accurate, so he takes Bucky’s word for it. He knows that Bucky hasn’t come as many times as he has, but it’s pretty close. And he knows Bucky’s determination. They set out to break a record today. Bucky’s not stopping until they do.

Bucky pulls the elastic band out of his hair and gathers all the tendrils that have worked their way loose. There’s no clock that Steve can see from his current position so there’s no telling how long they’ve been at this, but long enough that Bucky’s hair is stringy with sweat and not at all cooperating with his attempts to keep it out of his face. He’d been sure Bucky would want to cut his hair when he took back his agency, but he’s not about to argue the point. Bucky will do as he pleases, just like he’s always done.

Right now, apparently, ‘as he pleases’ translates to “rub the tip of his leaking cock across Steve’s sloppy, sensitive hole, but refuse to actually fuck him.’ Steve whines desperately, eager to be full, to feel Bucky pressed up against him and driving into him. He can’t manage anything more than little aborted wiggles of his hips, and it does nothing to get Bucky closer, so he’s forced to settle for the little bit of contact he can get. Bucky laughs at him, but not cruelly.

“Fuck Steve, you look good like this.” Bucky sounds distant and breathless but when Steve manages to settle his eyes, he sees a man who is focused and intent, hungry and motivated. “All wrapped up for me, just aching for it.” He pushes the head of his cock slowly past Steve’s rim, just enough to let Steve feel it, then pulls out again. “S’better than goddamned Christmas.” Bucky pushes in again slowly, rocking his hips to make little shallow thrusts, and Steve whimpers, lower lip pulled between his teeth, and prays that Bucky will take pity on him soon.

It feels like forever. Bucky teases him so bad, he’s so cruel. Steve is torn between loving every drawn out second of it and desperately awaiting the moment Bucky decides that enough is enough. He’s only got just the tip of Bucky’s cock, thick and slick with lube, and the little ripples of pleasure it’s sending through his body are delicious, but it’s not enough. Steve wants all of it, every inch buried in him, filling him up and fucking him hard into the mattress until there’s nothing he can do to stop the climax that shakes his body and rips noises from his throat. If Bucky doesn’t get at it soon, Steve might have to start begging.

“Buck,” he whines, but he doesn’t get any further than that. Bucky slides home, driving his cock into Steve’s ready hole until they’re pressed close together, Bucky’s hips against his ass. Steve gasps at the sudden fullness, a wide smile breaking out on his face. He gets one shaky breath to steady himself before Bucky is drawing back and driving into him again with long deep strokes. He takes his time working up to a harried pace, gaining momentum with each thrust. Bucky braces himself on Steve’s bound legs and bears him down into the soft bedding and Steve is so wrapped up in it, mattress below him and Bucky above, he feels that even without the ropes he’d be completely immobilized. Soon, Bucky’s thrusts have reached a frenzied pace and he’s fucking into Steve with everything he has. It’s hard and fast and deep, and Steve’s cock gets just enough friction between their bodies that soon Steve is crying out again as his eighth orgasm spills between them.

Bucky slows his thrusts to let Steve catch his breath and carve another mark on the headboard. His eyes darken as he watches Steve, chest heaving as he comes down once again from the heady rush of climax. As soon as Bucky’s sure Steve is back in control of his senses, he picks up the pace again. There’s no gradual build now. Bucky shifts into high gear right away, pounding into Steve with harsh, guttural grunts escaping his lips.

If Bucky seems preoccupied with his own pleasure, with the decadent ecstasy of burying himself in Steve’s tight heat over and over, it’s because he knows Steve will get right up to the edge of orgasm just from the feel of Bucky’s cock in his ass. Earlier, he’d managed to make Steve come untouched twice in a row. It’ll be harder now, even with genetic enhancements working in his favour, but Bucky knows from experience that if he plays his cards right, that can be all it takes to get Steve off.

 

A broken cry escapes Steve’s lips unhindered as Bucky shifts his angle and grazes Steve’s abused prostate again. He struggles to move his own hips and draw Bucky deeper, but it’s futile. Steve can crane his neck, he can wiggle a little, but Bucky has done such a good job with the ropes that he’s completely at his lover’s mercy. Someday Steve is going to have to suggest a role reversal. The idea of having Bucky trussed up like this is pretty damn appealing. Another day though. Another time.

Right now, Steve just has to focus on the wealth of sensations. It’s easier, in a way, when he’s all tied up. He doesn’t have to worry about doing anything in particular with his hands, doesn’t have to think about how he’s moving. He just has to let Bucky take care of him, and Bucky is pretty damn good at it. Just when Steve starts to feel the beginnings of impending orgasm thrumming in his core, Bucky reaches out and takes his cock in hand, stroking it in short, rough jerks. Sweat drips off Bucky’s forehead. His face is flushed red and his eyes blown wide with lust, and his voice is absolutely wrecked when he speaks to egg Steve on.

“Yeah…” Bucky groans. Steve loves him like this. “Come on, Steve. Know you’ve got it in you. I’m not letting you go ‘til we break your record.” Steve wants to comply, wants to do it for Bucky but it seems just out of reach. He’s so hot, and he’s so sore, and his body just feels like it’s wrung too dry. But then Bucky is leaning over, his metal fingers still tight around Steve’s aching cock, and devouring Steve’s mouth in a hungry kiss. Losing himself in the kiss distracts Steve just enough that he stops focusing on the orgasm that hovers just out of reach, and lets it wash over him in wave after wave of searing pleasure.

Steve drifts for a moment, hazy in the afterglow of his ninth orgasm. Distantly, he can feel himself being moved a little, jostled on the soft mattress. It’s confusing. He can’t keep track of the numbers but he’s sure Bucky hasn’t wrung from him everything that he wanted yet.

“Buck…?” He implores, “What…?”

“Shhhh,” Bucky replies, dropping the ropes that bind his legs and letting them pile on the floor. It’s so much rope, to bind such sturdy legs. Steve groans in spite of himself as he straightens his legs for the first time in what feels like days. They’re stiff and sore, heavy under the weight of his own muscles, and for a moment all he cares about is the fact that they’re not trussed up anymore. As he sinks into the mattress, Bucky wraps his fingers around Steve’s cock once more, stroking him to full hardness.

“One more, Stevie, just once more for me,” he murmurs, straddling Steve’s hips and fitting Steve’s dick to his own slick hole. Steve’s got no idea when he found time to prep himself, but then, he’s been in and out of the trance that follows orgasm so many times this afternoon that there’s probably a lot he didn’t notice. There could be Chitauri parading through the streets of New York right now and Steve would still be oblivious.

Steve sighs heavily as Bucky sinks down on his cock and starts to roll his hips. He rides Steve hard with a hand bracing himself on the headboard and the other on his own cock, stroking furiously as he impales himself over and over. Now Steve wishes his hands were free, so he could grab Bucky’s hips and pull him back down, but he contents himself with bracing his heels and driving up to meet Bucky’s thrusts each time he drives back down. Bucky throws his head back as he moans, a harsh noise that rises up from deep in his core, and the headboard splinters and cracks in the grip of his metal hand.

“Fuck,” Bucky groans, barely above a whisper, and he comes in hot ropes over Steve’s belly. He’s still fucking himself on Steve’s cock, still riding him for all he’s worth. Steve’s final orgasm is a weak thing by comparison, but it leaves him shaking. Bucky doesn’t stop his thrusting until Steve begins to soften inside him. Steve barely notices Bucky unwrapping the ropes that hold his arms. His fingers flex almost of their own accord, working better blood flow back into his weary digits.

Bucky flops onto the bed beside him and splays his limbs out haphazardly. For a second, Steve is convinced he’s fallen asleep, and after that showing, who could blame him? But after a moment in which their chests both heave with the effort of drawing breaths, Steve chances to turn his head to the side and glance at his Bucky, and finds Bucky staring back at him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Next time,” Bucky says, and his voice is dark and dangerous, “I say we try for fifteen.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on the [tumblrs!](http://shennanigoats.tumblr.com)


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